riverviewlogs | catch-all;

Entry tags:

catch-all;

who: Flint or Ellie (but probably not both) and anyone who cares to join them.
what: general catch-all log for the month of March
where: All around!
warnings: Ellie is a foul-mouthed teen with some trauma she'll never bother talking about but that might come up in introspection, and Flint is a considerably less foul-mouthed carpenter nee pirate captain with the same. Both tend to kill things with impunity, so maybe that? Idk. Will change if anything comes up.
notes: There are a variety of starters under the cut. Feel free to PM if you'd like one specifically tailored to you/your character or any scenario you'd like to run. I have a strong preference for present-tense brackets, but I'll match style if it's an accessibility issue no prob.

a; anywhere around Quarantine,

[Ellie definitely has a bag full of assorted types of candy that she is Determined To Try, but also: she pays a lot of attention to her surroundings and the people that occupy your space. You look sad? Lost, out of place, upset or any species of alone? Kid, adult, whatever, doesn't matter. Have some candy.]

Hey. You look like you need this more than I do.

b; anywhere around Quarantine,

[She has definitely found a place that's chill about renting motor scooters to minors (she has a permit now and everything). And that scooter has definitely gotten a flat tire. So now she's sitting on the curb with a mess of tools trying to strong-arm the exhaust off so she can get at the lug-nuts behind them. The new tire is on the sidewalk beside her and she is probably cursing loudly at something. Care to help?]

c; (for MCU!Bucky) in the woods somewhere,

[She is terrifically shitty at making her own arrows, but loathe to rely on just bullets. You never know when you'll need something quieter, or that you have a good chance of being able to recover later. So. She's. Experimenting. Out in the middle of nowhere, with a shitty fire, and some shitty sticks, and a variety of shitty arrow heads made from a variety of things she's collected. She is sitting down by a fire trying to figure out how to fletch them properly, and there's definitely a ruined pile of feathers beside her.]

Oh, for fuck's sake!

[Yep, she definitely just split that stick halfway down. There is a moment of vehement frustration, and then she throws the damn thing on the fire. It kicks sparks up into the sky, and she huffs in pure exasperation.

Also: be careful of the half-dozen tripwires she has set up around her perimeter, pal. Smoke-bombs are pretty harmless, but boy do they give away a position.]

d; (for DCEU!Clark) Clark's floor and shared quarters,

[Being able to cook, being able to find ingredients that aren't 'whatever you can throw in a pot' is probably the biggest fucking novelty of her life. Cookies. She's gonna do it. She thumbs through recipes on her tablet and eventually decides on gingersnaps. Some trial and error, one burnt batch and another decent one later and she is knocking on his door with a plate of them.]

e; (for Prison Break!Michael) sad stairwell shenanigans,

[She doesn't like elevators. Like, call her crazy, but relying on something that's just a series of pulleys and counterweights really isn't her thing, so she sticks to the stairs. It's not like they don't have their own problems (narrow corridors, not a lot of exits, etc) but she's more comfortable in them and tends to take them two at a time on principle.

Today, as she's heading down to the ground level she's stopped short by a guy. He's sitting down at the bottom of the steps that lead out to the second floor landing, facing away from her. There's something about the tension to his posture that makes her think he is probably several shades of not okay and she honestly debates with herself about whether or not she should just quietly edge out the door she came in through.

But. Eventually,]

Hey, pal, you all right?

[Her voice is gentle and soft, but she absolutely has one hand on the gun stuffed into the waistband of her pants. Just in case.]

z; forests around Quarantine and near the perimeter fence,

[Monsters pose no especial trouble to him. They are fierce and many, of course, but more predictable by half than any one man he has faced down at the point of a sword. He kills them, and having observed some resort to cannibalism he has taken to burning the bodies afterwards. Thick black smoke roils up from this latest pit, and James stands at the edge of it leaning on a shovel. He is dressed simply in all black, with no particular nod towards any one point in time. He has a modern rifle slung across his back, a modern handgun at his hip and a sword at the one opposite, so really: it's anyone's guess where the fuck he's from.

He can be found either killing monsters, burning them, inspecting various parts along the fence and/or cooking a particularly well-seasoned rabbit on a spit that is, thankfully, roasting over a fire made of wood rather than monsters. Feel free to join him at your leisure, but for the love of God don't sneak up on him.

Welcome in this thread: monster fighting! chats, cr building, disagreements about his Monster Murder, etc, all such things.]

y; communal living space floor 1, all comers welcome,

[And speaking of cooking. James is not a chef, nor a particularly charitable man, but he certainly knows how to foster camaraderie and the role in which food features to that end.

So: he's made a meal of glazed salmon, several side-dishes and has left a note out on the counter next to it, help yourselves in a neat, calligraphic scrawl. He can be found sitting on his bed with his back to the wall, reading, at any point thereafter. He keeps a chest at the foot of his bed absolutely laden with books, but he's presently working his way through Don Quixote by Cervantes.]

x; down by the river,

[He has claimed to be a carpenter, and to that end he has built several things with his own bare hands for use as a sort of... curriculum vitae, should the need for it arise. Presently, he is working on roughing out a single-log canoe. He's burnt out most of the inside, and is currently shaping the interior with a variety of hand-tools. He works simply, with speed that does not seem to be borne of urgency, and he will likewise seem untroubled should anyone join him there.

He'll give an acknowledging nod to anyone lingering nearby, but because he's a Stubborn Prick will likely not instigate conversation without prompting. Godspeed.]

v; (for Eddie Thrawn) cutpurses and piracy and thievery oh my

[Flint is not one for indulgences, but the public festival of Sampremi could potentially yield information beyond what he's culled from his own investigations, and so he goes.

He does not mingle. Mostly, he observes. This place has a dearth of the usual suspects he would expect to find in a crowd. No whores, no cutpurses to speak of, nothing that marks it as a place in which civilization has festered. But then, he has not yet had time to survey the jails, nor the local ordinances to see what the penalties are for failing to abide by the laws of men. Perhaps everyone is simply executed, and that would explain their lack.

He is standing beside a stall, having paid for an apple that he is currently polishing on the shoulder of his shirt when he sees it. A young girl. She is looking for a mark, he can tell by the way she looks so specifically at everyone that passes her, and once she sees someone who fits her criteria, she makes a point of stumbling into them. He watches her hands, and true to form she comes away with the man's wallet and turns to hurry off into the night.

James shrugs - neither his business nor his problem. If you don't keep a hand on your money you deserve its loss. But, as it turns out, he is not the only one to have seen this particular transaction. He was about to turn away when he sees the other man cut across the street to apprehend the girl, and it is then that he decides to drift closer. He does not care for thievery but less for men who set themselves above thieves.]

w; sailing the ocean blue,

[He has cleared an area on the ground. There are targets set up for projectile weaponry (ranging from bows to knives to guns) and an arena for physical combat. James will be seated at a table he has obviously built, working on building a star chart of the night sky as people arrive.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[To him, power is rather less a matter of ephemera. He has supped with lords, with kings. He has known men who could have a city burned at their word. He has been that man. Oh, there are tales at sea, of witchcraft, of monsters. Humans are fascinated by unknowable things. James takes nothing to be unknowable, only undiscovered. He does not play party to superstition, and he takes care not to let his crew overindulge in it either. Sailors are simple men, by and large, and pirates more-so. Some concessions must be made to ensure a ship is smoothly run, but Flint does not give credence to rumours and hearsay that many take as truth.

He watches her hands with a sharp, unerring focus, but there is nothing to his expression that gives voice to the thoughts he may hold on the matter. There is a moment's contemplation, and then his eyes flicker upwards, to her face.

On a deeper level, one he does not yet know she can sense, he is curious without alarm. Saliently, there is no fear.]

I see. [A beat.] And what can be done with these incredible abilities?

[She's trying very hard not to do anything too alarming, trying hard not to delve into his mind because his privacy is important to him. It's encouraging however that she doesn't sense any obvious outward reactions to her show of power. He could school his face to whatever expression he wanted, she's certain, but there's only so much the mind can keep from projecting. If he'd had any serious problems with this at the outset, she feels confident she'd notice.

Moving her hands slowly, she considers what to show him first. What would he appreciate most of all?]

I can use the energy fields to form a shield, or to pick things up, or tear them apart. I've used it to propel myself or teammates up into the air, and to draw poisonous gas out of a building.

[After a moment, hands making sinuous gestures toward the rack of weapons, she lifts a sword from the rack. The tip she keeps pointed toward herself and the grip in his direction so as to not alarm him, and lets it hover there in front of him to take.]

It's a flexible ability, perhaps only limited by my creativity. You can take the sword if you'd like, try your hand against my shielding.

[She trusts that if he agrees, he won't push so hard as to actually injure her, and at least in this trusts her own skill enough to know she can shield herself against him more than adequately.]

[He considers the sword hovering before him like one surveiling Excalibur in its watery exile, and though he - at length - takes it, it is not in a manner that suggests its proper use will follow. Instead, he sets it back down against the rack and selects something more like a bokken, a training sword.

What she says is rather a lot to take in. Unfathomable, almost. If she had lead their acquaintance with that, he doubts he would have believed her. Now, he sees no reason not to.

To his change in weaponry,]

It's not that I mistrust you.

[He says that in an aside, as he tests the flex of the wooden sword.]

But I believe you know enough of my history by now to understand it's difficult enough for me to lift a sword to a woman.

[He doesn't mind saying it, and considers it no admittance of weakness. Once upon a time he was a gentleman. To his perception, she is defenseless. Not an easy thing to shake regardless of what powers she may hold.]

[In light of the fact that he switches out the blade for a training sword, she supposes it's probably best that she didn't pick a gun and tell him to take aim and shoot her. There's no such thing as a training pistol unless you count crowd control weapons that shoot bean bags, and even then those hurt.

She shakes her head, indicating that she doesn't take offense.]

I understand. I should have picked the wooden sword to begin with, perhaps.

[The red energy continues to flow around her hands, small clouds and wisps of color that aren't so strong that the same color reaches her eyes. Not yet.]

It may help to remind yourself that while I'm a woman, I'm also a person who has been in battle before.

[To show him how her shields take form, to give him a target, she draws more power forth to her hands. It lights up her eyes at last as she presses her hands forward in a defensive gesture, and from there her shielding takes shape. In a second the shield covers her from the ground all the way up to above her head, though she only guards her front to start to save her energy.]

You can test the resistance against your sword first if you wish.

[In a somewhat gentle tone,]

I'm not questioning that, Miss Maximoff. I've known women who were quite formidable with all manner of weaponry.

[Any issue he takes with Anne Bonney aside, the few times he has seen her in a fight he has been rather in awe of her. It is not a matter of sex, at least where competence is concerned. It is the fact that he has never, not even in his darkest moments, struck a woman in anger or for any other reason. It is that conditioning which he must overcome, not anything against women in combat.

Nevertheless, he takes up a position rather more classical than the one he uses as Flint, readies the sword in his right hand and keeps his left slightly up, a form meant to counter another swordsman but ultimately, he imagines, useless here.

He does snap his stance forward, though, with a speed and precision that belies his decades not of practice but of practical use, and rap the sword sharply against where he expects to stop short of contact with her shoulder.

The shield is utterly unyielding. The light blow careens off of it like water on the prow of a ship, and he raises an eyebrow. A faint hm follows.]

[Wanda pauses, but nods. Understanding. It's the simple fact that she's a woman, in the end. For all that he's very modern in his thinking, there are some things ingrained in him, perhaps, that can't simply be wished away.

It's a little strange to be separated from him through a shield. She's used to training with Steve and Natasha, and the rest of the Avengers, but realizes as she stands opposite him now that it's been a while since she trained with someone who wasn't part of her team. It's wasted on her, perhaps, to do so with a man from another time and place, from alternate schools of fighting. She's too new to fighting herself to recognize any subtle differences.

She is pleased, however, to have blocked his sword with such ease, and gives him a tight smile.]

If you'd like, the next time I train with the others you'd be welcome to observe.

[It's a thoughtful invitation, and it elicits a nod from him as he jabs the point of the wooden sword down into the loam beneath their feet. A gesture, to the shimmering edges of the shield.]

May I?

[He'll speak to her invitation in a moment. For now he just wants to touch the shield itself. Things are made real by tactile sensation as much as by the eyes, the ears.]

[Holding the shield firm between them, she nods once more. It's pure energy that she wields, and no doubt it will tingle against his hands the way a plasma globe might.]

Of course.

[The shield shrinks to a more manageable size since she isn't actively guarding against him now. As the purpose is to test her powers and not her agility or reflexes, she very much doubts that he'll make an attempt to catch her off guard so soon.]

[No, his intent is not to attack. He is not that sort of teacher. But he does press both hands to the shield. Electricity crackles beneath the pads of his fingers, not intensely enough to be uncomfortable. It makes him think of the open air of a storm at sea, when your ship is the tallest thing for fathoms and you needs be wary of a lightning strike.

He slides his hands down, pushes against it as if testing its yield, and then he steps back into his own space with a very faint hm being the only indication of his opinion.]

Is it strenuous to maintain?

[She hesitates now. His questions could be considered academic, and she's trusted him enough to reveal this to him in private, to answer his questions. Still, she doesn't want to pretend that it doesn't take effort to maintain the shield, but saying as much does feel a little as if she's admitting weakness.

A moment passes, but she nods.]

The longer I hold it, the bigger the shield, and the more resistance or stronger the attack, the more energy it can take at times. It's better if I just have to use it in short bursts rather than continuously. But I am getting stronger with more practice. [She drops her shield, and then her hands, considering his careful lack of response.] I admit I wasn't sure how you'd react when I showed you but it seemed best to do so rather than have you find out by chance.

[There are so many people from her world here, and people from another version of her world. Someone would have let something slip, someone would have said something and he's too intelligent a man to not put two and two together.]

[She is right to suspect him. Though he has no clear motive or cause, or even thought to bring her harm, James has always been a man to whom unknowable things must be made knowable. Contingency plans have always been the order of his day.

Each man and woman among them has a breaking point. A swordsman may kill a dozen in a frenzy. Something like this...

He has no fear of her. But he can understand why others would not share his sentiment. To him, death by a blade, an arrow, an axe, a noose, they culminate in a singular answer, an immutable thing. The same would be said for a reckoning such as this: an awesome power, a terrifying strength. Humans are feeble, fickle things. He can't help but imagine she has struggled with it. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, and what is this but the power to rule?

His hands fall away from the shield. He has much to think on. One thing for certain: had he a power like this, he would not be so kind with its use.]

I appreciate your telling me. It is a curious thing to behold.

[As his hand falls away, Wanda lets the power fade. There's no reason to waste effort when he seems content for now. He's seen her move things with it, seen her shield. No doubt he'll see everything else she can do if he joins her for one of the training sessions.

Still, there is a question in her eyes. She's revealed far more about herself than before, so much more about her life and who she is and what she can do. He's still holding his cards close to his chest, which she can't say is unexpected, but she had thought perhaps there would be...more. It's also possible that she's expected too much of him, however. Neither of them are particularly verbose with one another.]

It was even more curious to find myself with this power. [She offers him a wry smile.] It took time to gain the control over it that I have. There isn't anyone in my world with power like this...

[Though there is another Wanda in another world with similar powers, she expects. There are already representatives here of another version of her universe. Loki told her a little about her counterpart...]

Do you have any other questions? Or is there something more you'd like to see me do?

[He's silent a time. Giving her question due consideration. At length, he shakes his head.]

I believe we can save that for another time. Are you hungry at all?

[Her lips curve up a little, seeming to visibly relax at the response.]

I could eat.

[He adds the wooden training sword back to the rack, and gestures her to the table with the star chart in its bundled up leather case.

He'll pull out a chair for her, and then fetch the day's victuals. Simple fare, hardy enough. There's enough for more than two individuals to share, he's obviously planned for a variance in numbers, so there's no worry of running out.]

Then please, help yourself.

[Wanda sits as Flint pulls out her chair, murmuring thanks as she surveys the table and the offerings. It's true that there's more than enough for both of them, but well aware of the purpose of his training sessions and the intent to invite others in she takes only one serving for herself.

Sliding easily into conversation after, she lingers at the table with Flint until the first to take him up on his offer arrive for a training session.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

catch-all;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject